The Bounty Hunter's Redemption (11 page)

Carly was an excellent mother. Much like his.

Memories of Ma paraded through his mind. Her gentle touch as she tucked him in at night. Her laugh when he’d showed off, trying to impress her with his prowess. Her warning frown when he’d fidgeted in church. All the little things she’d done to guide him, to make him feel special, secure.

When he’d met Rachel and fallen in love, he’d thought he’d found that peace he’d been missing. What a fool he’d been. The memory of Rachel dying in his arms tore through him, exploding pain in his chest, squeezing against his lungs until he couldn’t breathe, as if he’d taken that bullet.

If only he had.

He gulped air, trying to ease his racing heart. Rachel, his parents, Walt had never done a cruel thing in their lives, yet all had died a violent death.

Lord, why do the good die? Why?

As long as Stogsdill ran free, Nate couldn’t rest. He’d go after the outlaw as soon as he could.

The prospect of living out of a saddlebag, searching for the vilest of men, tore at the moments of contentment he’d found here in a town with the unlikely name of Gnaw Bone.

Carly joined Nate on the porch, tucking her arms around her as if warding off the night chill.

“I tightened the fitting in the pipe. Appears to have stopped the leak. If not, I’ll need to solder it.”

“Thank you.” She laid a hand on his sleeve, then took a hurried step back, as if she hadn’t meant to touch him. “And thanks for allowing my son to help. He couldn’t stop talking about it.”

“The pleasure was mine. Reminds me of all the good times I had working beside my dad.”

The full moon illuminated her features with a faint glow. She kept her distance. Yet even from there he caught the faintest scent of roses.

“It’s a beautiful night,” she said. “I don’t get out here to enjoy the quiet often.”

“Sometimes I forget to enjoy it at all.”

She stepped to the porch railing. “I assumed a bounty hunter spent most nights under the stars.”

How could he explain that his focus on capturing Stogsdill destroyed the peace of the nighttime sky? “Guess the company makes the difference,” he said, taking a step closer.

He should go, yet he didn’t want to leave. What could he do that would allow him to stay, something that would put distance between them yet ease Carly’s burden?

Through the open door his gaze sought the stack of dirty dishes. “Maybe we should test that pump? While I wash those dishes.”

She whirled to him. “You want to do dishes? Why?”

At the astonishment and suspicion in her tone, he bit back a smile, and then ushered her inside. “Yes, if you’ll dry.” He leaned in. “If I lend a hand, maybe you’ll believe I’m not all bad.”

She smirked. “This I’ve got to see.”

“You’ve never seen a man clean up the kitchen?”

“Not in my house.” She grabbed a dish towel from the hook by the sink. “My pa didn’t do what he called ‘women’s work.’ Max’s version of a household chore was taking care of his horse.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t speak ill of anyone.”

With a husband like Max Richards, the poor woman’s conscience probably worked overtime. “Living on the trail taught me to appreciate the work women do.” He smiled. “Especially a home-cooked meal.”

Her face softened, slipping into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. The sight of her stole his breath, left him standing there gazing at her with the intensity of a pup starving for affection. Her pupils dilated, luring him into their dark depths. He took a step closer.

She inhaled sharply and turned away, fiddling with the button at her collar, breaking the connection.

Telling himself her reaction was for the best, Nate walked to the sink. He pumped cold water into the dishpan hanging at the end of the counter and added hot water from the reservoir in the stove, all the while trying to tamp down an urge to pull Carly into his arms.

Carly opened a jar of soap, scooped up a blob and swished it around in the water, working up suds. She stood so near he could feel the heat from her body. Inhale her soft floral scent. See a hairpin that had worked loose from holding her bun in place.

She handed him a dishrag. As he took the cloth, their fingertips brushed. As a jolt of awareness shot through him, Carly sucked in a breath and busied herself filling another dishpan with hot water. Finished with that, she grabbed a dishrag and scrubbed the table and the counter, flitting here and there like a hummingbird in search of a place to light.

The tick of the pendulum of the kitchen clock seemed to echo in the silence. Did the knowledge they were alone in the house with only her son for a chaperone make her uncomfortable? Or was she as unnerved as he was by the attraction between them? An attraction that had roared to life with a sudden intensity that left him stunned.

With every particle of his being, he fought the pull she had over him. Tomorrow she’d see him as an enemy. Rightly so. What could he say to ease the tension? In the room? Inside him?

“Looks like Henry licked his plate clean. Says a lot about your cooking,” he said, forcing a light tone he didn’t feel, trying to cover his sudden envy of a boy who had Carly’s company.

“Depends on the menu. Henry doesn’t like most vegetables. He prefers growing to eating them.”

Nate chuckled. “Ma insisted I eat lima beans. I couldn’t get them down without gagging. Finally she gave up. Said she’d forget lima beans if I ate all the others.” He grinned down at her. “The reason I eat turnips to this day.”

“You had a good mother.” Her gaze filled with sorrow. “I did, too. My mother taught me to sew. I’d sit beside her, watch her every move and thread her needles. The older I got, the more she let me do. I cut out and hemmed a blanket for my doll, then made dishrags, handkerchiefs, aprons. By the time I was ten, I was making my own play dresses.” She took the plate he handed her. “Ma said I had the knack and sent me to Mrs. Harrington, the town seamstress, to learn more, insisting I should have a trade to make my own way.” Carly wiped and wiped the same plate, as if she couldn’t get it dry.

She didn’t say what Nate heard:
You want to take that trade away from me.

“Your ma was a wise woman.”

“I know what a cooper, blacksmith, barber, teacher, clerk and farmer does, but I can’t fathom searching for outlaws,” she said. “What’s it like to be a bounty hunter?”

With her dislike of his occupation, the question surprised him. “Much of the time I’m in the saddle, chasing down leads or following trails. Once I nab my man, I disarm and release him into the custody of the nearest sheriff.”

“Why do you want to do such a dangerous job?”

“Money’s good.”

“If you count the hours you spend on the trail, I doubt you’re well paid.” She narrowed her gaze. “I’m guessing something besides money makes a man risk his life.”

“Outlaws must be brought to justice, or more innocents will die.”

“I’d like to see evildoers behind bars, but I’m not out rounding up criminals. Something else drives you. What?”

“I’m after one man. Shifty Stogsdill.”

“The man on the wanted poster. Why him?”

“Stogsdill was part of the gang that murdered our parents.” He ground the words out between jaws so tense he could barely push the words past his lips.

Carly gasped. “I’m...I’m sorry. Anna didn’t tell me. What happened?”

“Dairy farming tied our folks down. They were on their first vacation, taking the train to visit relatives in Kansas, when outlaws boarded the train, stealing jewelry, money, whatever passengers had on them. My father reached inside his coat for his pocket watch, alarming a trigger-happy bandit who fired at close range.”

“Oh, no, that’s horrible.”

“From what passengers said, Ma lurched at the outlaw and was shot. Three outlaws fled with the loot. Stogsdill lost his bandanna in a scuffle with the conductor. The man was shot, but survived and recognized Stogsdill from a wanted poster.”

“When did this happen?” Carly asked, her face pale, eyes stunned.

“I was fifteen. Anna, eighteen,” he said. So long ago.

“You’ve been hunting their killer for...what? Five years? Ten?”

“I left home at eighteen. Eight years ago.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’s not a life conducive to settling down.”

“The reason you’re not married,” she said, a statement, not a question.

Nate scrubbed grease from a skillet, rubbing harder and harder, as if he could obliterate Stogsdill’s face in the iron.

“Do you ever question if your parents would approve of the life you’ve chosen?”

He flung the dishrag into the sink, scattering bubbles. “That monster killed someone else.” Head down, he laid his hands on either side of the sink, his breath coming in gasping spurts. “Someone else...I was close to.”

The light pressure on his back eased the tight muscles under a gentle palm. Carly. Trying to comfort him. He turned toward her and stared into damp eyes soft with sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could help.”

“Thanks, but there’s nothing you can do.” He took a ragged calming breath, and then returned to the chore, his eyes on the task and not on the woman at his side. When his heart had returned to a steady beat, he said, “If you want to help, think about your customers. Perhaps Stogsdill’s girlfriend isn’t a stranger to you. Perhaps you’ve made lots of dresses for her.”

“None of my customers could possibly be involved with an outlaw.”

“Are you sure? Folks can pretend to be something they’re not.”

Carly’s eyes found the floor. “Yes,” she said, a tremble in her voice.

“Still, I’d think she’d stick out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, she might talk different. Act different. Look different. Perhaps she would mention far-off places or wear flashy dresses with, uh, low necklines, like a dance hall girl.”

“I’ve never seen a dance hall girl.” A blush flooded her cheeks. “Apparently you have.”

“I go where I must, to get my man.”

She harrumphed, as if she believed he relished spending time in saloons. “I don’t remember anyone like you describe.”

Either Stogsdill’s girlfriend had never stepped foot in Carly’s shop, or she looked and behaved nothing in the manner he’d expect of an outlaw’s woman. Surely she couldn’t be a woman like Carly. Carly was refined, intelligent, hardworking. The kind of woman any man would appreciate.

Finished with the simple task, Nate dried his hands, letting his gaze roam the cozy kitchen. What would it be like to sit at that table, eat a home-cooked meal and relate the day’s events surrounded by a family? What would it be like to share everyday activities like a ride in the country or painting a shed or planting a garden?

And turn away from pursuing killers and thieves?

His gaze tumbled to Carly’s upturned face, then lowered to her rosy, parted lips. A desire for a wife and children gripped him, twisting inside him, squeezing against his heart.

On their own volition, his feet took him closer until the toes of his boots touched her hem. “You’re so pretty,” he said, the words slipping from his lips uninvited.

Her gaze skittered away, then darted back to him. “I’m plain, not one bit like those dance hall girls you mentioned.”

“You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

In her eyes he read how much she wanted to believe him. Yet somehow didn’t. Hadn’t Richards told his wife she was pretty? Didn’t she see the truth in the mirror each morning?

“You’re a beautiful woman, Carly.” He lowered his head until his lips hovered over hers, wanting only to kiss her. Desperate to kiss her. Waiting for her permission.

Disquiet filled her eyes and she lurched back. “You should leave.”

What had he been thinking? A kiss suggested permanence, a future. Something he couldn’t offer. Didn’t even know he had.

With a nod, he grabbed his toolbox and strode out. Each step thudding inside him, pounding in his temples until his vision blurred, strangely bereft with the sense of loss so strong his knees all but buckled.

An odd feeling swept over him. For a moment he grappled with its identity.

Need
.

With every particle of his being, he tamped down the reaction. Nate had never needed anyone. Not even Rachel. He’d cared about her. Loved her, but he hadn’t needed her.

And he didn’t need Carly.

He had no business thinking about kissing Carly Richards. He had no business contemplating a family.

He’d never make that mistake again. His purpose came before his happiness, just as Carly put her son’s well-being before her own. Some things were worth any sacrifice.

Chapter Nine

T
he only thing more distressing to Carly than a displeased customer was an indecisive customer who couldn’t make up her mind. Or worse, kept changing it. As Vivian Schwartz was now.

Carly bit back a sigh. Wasn’t she behaving the same way with her wavering feelings toward Nate? How could she be attracted to him one minute and flip to suspicion the next?

Just because the man had washed her dishes didn’t make him trustworthy. Nate was a bounty hunter. When she’d asked about tracking outlaws, she’d been curious, sure, but she’d hoped that what she’d learn might give her the upper hand, give her some insight that would save the shop.

Instead, learning about the cold-blooded murder of his parents had turned the tables, fostering sympathy for the man. Now that she knew the heartache driving him.

Still, his occupation was surely not one God would approve. Nothing had changed. Nate was still determined to see his sister get this shop.

Lord, give me wisdom to know Your will. Lead me to whatever is right.

“I want lace on the skirt.” Expression petulant, Vivian planted her hands on her hips.

“I’m happy to add more lace, if that’s what you want.” Though if Vivian kept adding lace, she’d look like one of those dance hall girls Nate had described. “I read in
Harper’s Bazaar
this morning that simple lines enhance a woman’s form.”

The bride worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Too much lace could make me look plump.”